Everything
by somehowunbroken
Summary: Cam is John's flight instructor. John is entranced by the planes; Cam is entranced by John. John/Cam.
1. Everything

Written for sga_kinkmeme: Cam is John's flight instructor. John is entranced by the planes; Cam is entranced by John.

* * *

"What's on the schedule for today, boss?"

The voice is lazy, drawled, and Cam grins for a second before he turns around. "Morning to you too," he replies, putting as much of the South as he can in his voice, because he's noticed that when he does, it makes a funny little look cross Sheppard's face. Sure enough, Sheppard's nose crinkles a little and the skin around his eyes wrinkles; not a lot, not for long, but Cam loves to see it.

"Going up today," Cam adds. Due to bad weather and various training exercises, they've been grounded for almost a week. He feels stuck on the earth, heavy, as if his boots are metal and the floors beneath him magnets. He knows Sheppard feels the same; as soon as the words are out of Cam's mouth, Sheppard is smiling wildly, joy and anticipation and something else that Cam can't quite define showing in every feature.

Cam can't help but match the smile. He gestures to the hangar door, and they begin the walk across the tarmac, making idle conversation about training exercises and other pilots in the program. They step through the doors, and Cam hears Sheppard give a gasp beside him and turns.

There's a look on Sheppard's face that he's never seen before, one of wonder and awe and amazement, and Cam almost feels like a voyeur, watching the emotions flicker across the other man's face. It's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen, and he wonders suddenly if his face looks like that as he's looking at Sheppard, like he's looking at something he's heard about but never dreamed he'd be allowed near.

"We're going up in that?" Sheppard asks, and he traces his hand along the fuselage, delicately, gently, as if he's afraid that anything more than the most gossamer of touches will steal its ability to fly. His voice is full of wonder, no trace of his ever-present drawl, and the tone makes Cam glad there's nobody else scheduled in here today, because he's sure his face isn't hiding any of what he's feeling.

"Yeah," Cam says quietly. "Noticed they've been sticking you with the T-6s. Seemed like this might be more what you were looking for."

Sheppard turns back to him, the look on his face shifted more towards surprise and gratitude. "You heard me talking to Williams?"

Cam shrugs. "Williams mentioned something about it, yeah."

"Remind me to kiss her," Sheppard says, walking around the helicopter, admiring it from this angle and that.

And just like that, Cam's mood dims a little, because he can do all the digging he wants and pull all the strings he holds to get Sheppard the assignments he so craves, but at the end of the day, it won't get Cam any closer to his own goals.

"You been up in one before?" he asks, trying now to get that look off of Sheppard's face, because while it's something he's pretty sure he'll never get tired of seeing, right now it just hurts.

"Not in one of these, no," Sheppard replies, finally stepping back. "Chopper, yeah, when I was a kid. That's what made me want to join up. But I've never been in one I'd be allowed to fly." He pauses, as if something has only just occurred to him. "I will get to fly it, right?" His voice is cautiously hopeful, as if he's been given a gift he's not sure if he has permission to open, and Cam would never deny him anything he asks in that tone.

"Yeah," Cam says, and watches the expression break on Sheppard's face like dawn over the ocean, brilliant and beautiful and gone before he can really absorb it fully.

They go through the pre-flight checks and Cam gets their initial takeoff clearance with Control before they climb up and in. Cam sits in the pilot's seat and lets Sheppard sit in the co-pilot's before he turns to the other man.

"Your sim records say you've gone through the whole program on one of these," Cam says, indicating the control panel broadly. "You know what you're doing?"

Sheppard nods, and the lazy confidence is back. "Just need to fly a real one to get the gold star on my chart," he says, and the drawl is in place, too; Cam finds that he doesn't enjoy the sound now as much as he had an hour ago, because now he's got something else to compare it to, something beautiful and rare.

Cam stands and motions to his own seat grandly, watching as the expression crosses Sheppard's face again, the sun rising and setting in the blink of an eye, and Cam's going to have to figure out what else in life Sheppard wants this badly, because Cam's pretty sure he wants to see that look every day for the rest of his life. They switch seats and strap in, but before they put their breathers on, Sheppard grabs his arm. "Is this, y'know, cleared?"

Cam grins and shakes his head. "Not as such," he admits, flicking one of the clasps on the breather. "Cleared to take you up, give you some air time in one of these, but I'm pretty sure they're expecting me to do the bulk of it." He shrugs. "What they don't know won't hurt me."

"What they don't know," Sheppard points out, his voice serious – another tone that Cam's never heard from him – and continues, "could get you kicked out of the Air Force."

"They won't ask, and I'm sure not going to tell them anything." Cam's positive that he imagines the brief look that flickers through Sheppard's eyes as he plays on the military's don't ask, don't tell policy.

"If you're sure," Sheppard says finally, grabbing his own breather. Cam nods and clicks his into place.

They're only up for an hour, because Cam's not sure how long Sheppard can handle the bird – he's logged much longer in the T-6, but fling a copter is an entirely new ballgame. Sheppard seems to enjoy every second of it, executing increasingly more complex maneuvers with the ease of someone born to it, and after they've landed Cam can't help but watch his hands as they flick at switches and pull knobs during the post-flight check.

Sheppard notices Cam's staring and stills. "Am I doing it wrong?" he asks, slightly unsure, and Cam is forced to remember that though he's never had a smoother ride in a helicopter, Sheppard's never actually done this before. He shakes his head.

"Just making sure you get it all," he responds, and it seems to satisfy Sheppard, because he gets back to work.

They're finished not long after, and Sheppard walks to the hangar entrance with one last look over his shoulder. He stops near the entrance, and Cam nearly collides with him before stopping just in time. Sheppard turns around and takes the tiniest step back, but they're still close, mere inches apart, and Cam leans back even as his body strains to lean forward.

"Thanks," Sheppard says, and it's that same honest, awestruck tone that he'd had when he first set eyes on the chopper. "That was – everything," he says again, and quickly, almost hesitantly, reaches out to pull Cam into a rough embrace, thumping him on the back. Cam stands still, stunned, and Sheppard drops his arms before Cam can make himself respond.

"See you later, boss," Sheppard drawls as he steps back into the last sunlight of the day, and Cam watches him saunter back along the tarmac, the setting sun playing on his hair and the skin at the back of his neck. A slow smile spreads across Cam's face as he closes his eyes and images play through his mind, images of the day, and he thinks, yes, _that was everything._


	2. Realization

John isn't sure when he first started noticing his flight instructor as more than the guy who was teaching him to fly, but he's very, very aware of it now. Cameron Mitchell is, bluntly, hot as hell, and it's starting to wear on John's carefully constructed psyche.

He's noticed guys before, sure, but he's always been able to just sort of ignore it until it goes away, or find a woman who would be willing to drive those thoughts from his head without asking what they were. It's just something that he deals with, and until now, he's been dealing just fine.

But a month ago, he'd found himself assigned to Mitchell for his one-on-ones. He'd heard stories about the Golden Boy of the training program, able to fly pretty much anything he sat in, polite, respectful, all the things that the Air Force would lap up like sweet cream. John had been both glad and annoyed that Mitchell would be his instructor – while it would be a benefit to have a teacher who knew what the hell he was doing, Mitchell would undoubtedly be some sort of Good Boy, and John wasn't sure he could handle that for too long.

And then he'd met the man. Short hair, somewhere between dark blonde and light brown, cut precisely to regs, flight suit neat and clean, blue eyes and wide smile that shone from a face that screamed good ol' boy. His handshake was firm and strong, and when he opened his mouth, John had to control his facial muscles, because the man's voice dripped honey and promised more.

"Cam Mitchell," he had said, and maybe that's when John had started noticing. Maybe it had been right away.

And today – John shakes his head now, thinking back on the day. John had shown up at 1800 sharp, dressed in his flight suit and hoping that they'd actually get to go up. Mitchell had given him that slow smile, greeted him with that voice that made John want to jump him right there, and seriously, if John didn't know better, he would think that Mitchell was laying it on thick just to get a reaction.

And then – sweet mother of mercy, _then_. John wants to fly choppers. It's all he's wanted to do since he was eight and his father had taken him and Dave up in a helicopter, the reason for the flight now forgotten, but the memory of the sensation still as fresh as if it were yesterday. The Air Force, however, seems to think he would be better suited to fly transport and has stuck him with the T-6 pretty much every time he goes up, and he's reasonably confident that yesterday, he would have killed his own bunkmate for the chance to fly a chopper instead.

Mitchell had given him that chance, no murder required.

And John damn well knows that Mitchell shouldn't have let him do it. It was perfectly clear that Mitchell was supposed to do the flying, maybe let John handle a few minutes in the air, but certainly they hadn't been cleared for the things John had done. He flew moves he'd tried in the sim, some more successfully than others, trying crazier and crazier stunts until Mitchell had given him the signal to take her back down, and God, John had almost been shaking with euphoria by the time they touched the ground.

Mitchell had clearly been pleased with himself, and John thinks back to the little smile the other man had worn as John had gone through the post-flight. John still isn't sure what made him admit what flying the copter had meant to him, why he'd grabbed Mitchell in a hug, of all things, but the surprised look on Mitchell's face had only just covered the happy little smile, and it had been all John could do to back away, toss off some sort of offhanded comment, and walk across the tarmac.

John shakes his head again, sitting in the one of the booths in the rec room on base, playing back the feeling of the joystick, how the bird had responded to him, the heady feel of pulling it up and around and finally setting it back on the ground. He had told Mitchell the truth. It had been everything.

John blinks as someone slides into the booth across from him. Mitchell, he realizes, and tosses off a grin. "Evening, boss."

Mitchell rolls his eyes. "Why is it that you insist on calling me that?" he asks, smooth and easy. "I have a name, Sheppard."

"So I've heard," John replies, just as easily, trying to sit still, to keep the adrenaline that's still running through his system from making him do something stupid. Instead, he asks, "Why'd you do it?"

Mitchell smiles and gives him a half-shrug. "You hate the T-6."

"Hate's a little strong."

"You loved flying that bird today."

John doesn't deny that, doesn't even want to. He figures the grin he can't stop from spreading is admission enough. "I guess the question is," he decides, lowering his voice, "why'd you let me fly it? You were only supposed to take me up."

Mitchell looks like he's about to protest, but John cuts him off. "Mitchell, you're not a chopper instructor. You're in deep shit if Control finds out. They could ground you," he says, trying to drive his point home.

Mitchell pours the South into his voice, damn him, and John is pretty sure he'd swear he'd never met his own brother if Mitchell asked him to in that tone. "Sometimes half the truth is better than the whole truth, Sheppard. Like I said, they've got this thing about not asking."

John can't help but flash back to Mitchell's mention of it before, at the double entendre he hadn't been sure he wasn't making up, and suddenly things start to click, little things all at once adding up: Mitchell using that voice, the whole chopper experience, his little comments, his happy smiles, and holy shit, John doesn't have any idea what to do with this information. Instead, he asks, trying to be casual, "You have a habit of not telling them… things?"

Mitchell's smile falters, just for a split-second, and John has his answer before the words leave Mitchell's lips. "Everyone has their secrets, Sheppard." He's still smiling, but John can see the strain in it, can see the nervousness in bright blue eyes, and he catches Mitchell's wrist as the other man stands up.

"I'm pretty good at keeping things to myself," John says, letting go of Mitchell's wrist. Some of the tension leaves his frame, and he's looking down at John thoughtfully. "In fact, I'd say that apparently I'm better at it than I thought I was." He gives Mitchell a slow smile as he lets his eyes drift a little, leaving no doubt as to what he means. Mitchell sits down again, and his smile is back to the one John recognizes, light and carefree.

"Really now?" Mitchell drawls, giving John the same sort of once-over that he'd just given Mitchell, and John leans back against the booth, draping his arms across the back and giving Mitchell a smirk when the other man raises an eyebrow.

"Apparently," he repeats. "Look, Mitchell-"

"Cam," Mitchell offers, playing with a straw from the table idly. John blinks but nods.

"Cam. Things are… difficult."

Cam rolls his eyes. "I'm well aware of that." He smiles, lips curving up slowly into a decidedly wicked grin that John's never seen before but finds himself enjoying. "One perk of being on the good side of the powers that be is that I have my own place."

John whistles. It's not easy, on a base like this, to be granted a place of your own. Clearly the stories he's heard about the man sitting in front of him are true. "Impressive."

"Less so once you've seen it," Cam offers cheerily. "I think it began life as a closet."

"You call your apartment a closet?" John asks, emphasizing the end of the question.

Cam shrugs. "Story of my life." He grins, clearly intending the dual meaning, and John can't help grinning back. Cam rises from the table. "Anyway, I'm in the air at 0830. Robbins failed his last qual by thirteen seconds, but Jennings is giving him another shot."

John rolls his eyes. Robbins isn't going to graduate flight school, and everyone knows it. Jennings, their section's commander, is pretty much trying to let him down easy at this point. "You have fun with that."

Cam shakes his head with a rueful smile. "No promises." He pauses, standing next to John's seat, and John has to slide a little farther away from him to angle his head up and meet his eyes. "You going up tomorrow?"

John shakes his head. "Classes until 1300, then I'm free the rest of the day. It's some kind of minor miracle."

"You like college football?"

John decides he's moved from thinking that Cam is hot as hell to being a little in love with him in about two seconds. "Oh yeah."

"Carolina-NC State is tomorrow afternoon. 1630. Interested?"

Definitely a little in love. "Sure. Your closet?"

Cam laughs. "You bring the chips."

"I can do that." And as Cam gives him one last smile and walks away, John thinks to himself, _yeah, today was pretty good._


	3. Nights Like Tonight

**Warning: off-screen slashy sex.** Just in case that's not your thing.

* * *

Their relationship, if that's what this is, consists of little more than occasionally hanging out at Cam's place (which is not nearly as small as he made it out to be) and continuing their one-on-ones. They can't do anything else, be overt, even risk being the tiniest bit careless. It's difficult for both of them, but neither wants their shot at the sky to be taken before they get their feet off the ground, so they stay below the proverbial radar.

It's because of that fact that they end up with nights like tonight. Cam is hosting a party of sorts, though it's of course not being called a party, as that would be against regulations. No, it's just a bunch of guys watching college football in the same place, with food and drinks and a friendly atmosphere.

John hates nights like tonight.

It's not that he doesn't like other people – a few of those gathered tonight are John's friends, though most are Cam's. It's just that he feels tense, like he's walking on eggshells, like bringing all of these other people into a space where they've shared more than football will somehow alert the others. Like John might slip and do or say something that will have light bulbs flaring on over everyone's heads. Nights like this put him on edge.

It doesn't help that Oris, his bunkmate, had been pestering him about Cam this afternoon. "What's with you and Mitchell, anyway?"

John had made himself keep walking, to not tense up. The only thing he could force out was a strangled, "What?"

Oris had rolled his eyes. "Three months ago, he was your flight instructor. Now you spend a lot of your free time with the guy. I'm just wondering why he's your new best friend."

John had made himself shrug, smirk. "He likes NC State," he had quipped, grabbing an orange from the other man's tray. " Unlike you heathens, Mitchell actually recognizes that they've got a shot at the bowl this year."

Oris had given John a smirk right back. "You're both insane, then," he'd said, laughing. "There's no way…"

John blinks, brought back to the not-party by the sound of the same laughter from the next room. Oris is here, watching the game and joking around with everyone else. It had been Cam's idea to invite him, and John had gone along with it, not really caring until their conversation today. If Oris already suspects something, and John makes a stupid move…

Which is why he finds himself locked in the bathroom, sitting on the closed toilet with his head between his legs, trying hard not to hyperventilate. He jumps when he hears pounding on the door and Cam's voice. "Sheppard! Only one bathroom here, buddy!" John doesn't answer for a minute, and Cam pounds again. "Hey, you okay in there?"

John reaches out and unlocks the door, and Cam opens it a second later. He pokes his head in and, seeing John's state, yells to someone down the hallway, "Go use the one in the rec room!"

John hears laughter from the living room as Cam steps in and locks the door behind him. He's kneeling in front of John a second later, and it's cramped, John's knees brushing up against Cam's chest. Cam has his hands on John's arms and John calms a little. "What's up?" Cam saw softly.

John shakes his head. Cooping himself up in here is a terrible idea, would make Oris much more suspicious than if he'd just sat in the living room and pretended to have a good time. "Oris was asking about you this afternoon. About us," he says, remembering the conversation again. "I just… freaked a little."

"Don't freak," Cam says, smiling. "We're fine. Oris is suitably impressed by my television and the fact that I managed to get some beer on base. He thinks you hang out with me because of my entertainment system."

"Maybe I do," John tries to joke, but he can't manage to get his face to make a smile. He wants to leave, to not be surrounded by these people, but if he goes now Oris will follow him back to their bunk, and that will just make it worse.

Cam frowns at him and hauls him up off the toilet. He wraps his arms around John, and John slumps forward, tucking his face into Cam's neck. He really is freaking out far more than he should. Cam backs away a minute later and studies John's face.

"Okay," he says softly. "I'll make your excuses. Go lie down before you lose your lunch."

John's eyes dart in the direction of the living room. "Oris is just gonna follow me home," he says, and Cam shakes his head.

"Go lie down in my room," he says gently. "I'll tell them you had one too many and you're gonna sleep it off here. Go," Cam repeats, more firmly, and John nods, tucking his face to Cam's chest for a brief second before stumbling out of the bathroom and down the hall. He's down to his boxers and asleep in Cam's bed in less than three minutes.

-0-

"Hey," Cam says, rejoining the party in the living room "What'd I miss?"

"Penn State made a great block," one of the guys says, and the conversation around him dissolves into an argument about the game. Oris walks nearer, standing just out of Cam's field of view, looking a little… nervous? Cam turns to the younger man and grins. "Hey, Oris."

Oris straightens. "Mitchell," he says, and there's something in his tone of voice that reminds him of how the guy addresses superior officers. Cam glances around and realizes that with John now down for the count, there's nobody else here the kid knows. His other friends had split an hour or so before. "Look, do you need me to get Sheppard out of here? I can get him back to the bunk."

Cam shakes his head, going for flippant. "He passed out on my bed," he says, rolling his eyes. "I think he had a little too much to drink. Probably not a good idea for your bunk supervisor to see him like that."

Oris winces and nods. Jennings is a little bit of a hardass sometimes, and he's pretty intolerant of drinking on base. Cam shrugs. "Don't worry about it. He can sleep it off here, and I'll make it fine with Jennings." Cam knows the older man pretty well, and figures he can probably talk John's absence away without too much effort.

"If you're sure," Oris hesitates, his eyes flicking to the door. Cam gives him a grin and claps him on the shoulder.

"You good to get yourself home?" he asks. "I can give you a lift if you're not."

Oris shakes his head. "Nah, I'm fine." He hesitates. "Thanks, Mitchell. For the invitation and for looking after Sheppard."

Cam keeps the grin in place and thinks back to what John had said before, about Oris asking about them. "What are friends for?" he quips, steering Oris towards the door. "Other than taking care of you when you're sick and making fun of you for it in the morning, of course."

Oris laughs, shakes his head again, and leaves.

The rest of the people clear out not long after that. The game had ended while Cam was talking to Oris, and Cam waves off his buddies' offers to stay and help clean up, citing John sleeping in the bedroom. He'll just make Sheppard do it in the morning, he jokes, and his friends laugh and help him clear the couch before they split.

Cam makes his way back to the bedroom after they leave and takes in John's form, curled tightly in on himself, right on the edge of the bed. He doesn't look peaceful or childlike or any other words used to describe sleeping people; he looks haunted and worried and stressed out. Cam strips down to his boxers and slides in, curling up into John. He tugs John's body back against his own, forcing tensed muscles to relax. John stirs a few moments later and freezes as he takes in their position.

"Cam?" he asks, awake but not yet alert. "Someone could-"

"Everybody's gone, John," Cam says, and John's muscles relax again. "They all cleared out pretty quickly after you went down."

"Sorry," John says, though he doesn't sound it at all, and Cam smiles into his hair. "How long was I out?"

"An hour, give or take," Cam says, running his hand idly up and down John's arm. "Penn State won."

"Good for them," John declares, more awake now. "Wasn't sure they would pull it out."

"Yeah, well," Cam says, shrugging against John's back. "I told Oris to take off not long after you crashed. Told him I'd set it straight with Jennings."

"Jennings likes me," John shrugs back. "Doubt I'll have a problem."

"I'll talk to him anyway," Cam says. "Are you feeling better?"

John nods. "I wasn't really sick," he says, and Cam knows he wasn't, remembers John's panicked face and his worry about his bunkmate figuring them out. "I'm sorry I flipped."

Cam stops the movement of his hand and tugs on John's shoulder until the other man turns over to face him. "Don't apologize," he says seriously, looking into John's face. "You worry too much, I'll give you that, but you don't have to apologize for it, John."

John's face is still worried, and Cam closes the last few inches between them to kiss John lightly. "Don't worry about it," he repeats, hoping that John can just let it go.

-0-

John is still worried about Oris, about him figuring it out, but worry is quickly being replaced by the realization that he is currently in bed with his – boyfriend? He's still not sure what, exactly, they are to each other – and they're both almost naked. And Cam just kissed him.

He leans forward again, capturing Cam's mouth, and they kiss slowly, languidly, almost sweetly, but neither of them would ever call it that. Cam's hands are in his hair, and John is holding Cam's jaw with one hand while he runs the other up and down Cam's side. John shifts and they both gasp and pull back as their hips come into alignment.

"Um," Cam stutters, pulling back. John's hand tightens on his side, holding him close, and John waits until Cam's eyes rise back to his before he speaks.

"I want to," he says quietly. "Do you?"

Cam nods and glances away, and even in the darkness of the bedroom, John can see the faint color rise in his cheeks. "I haven't – with a guy," he confesses, and John tugs and shifts until Cam's mostly on top of him.

"Neither have I," John admits, and Cam's eyes cloud over with doubt. John rocks his hips up and Cam groans. "But I want to."

"Okay," Cam says, dropping his head to John's. And they do.

Afterwards, curled up together, John presses his face into Cam's neck. "You going up today?"

Cam buries his face in John's hair and wraps his arms tightly around his back. "I already have."


End file.
